


Fireworks

by Luka



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Ryan and Stephen’s bonfire night goes with a bang.





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Here be slash, angst and smut! It was written for the Primeval_Denial Bonfire Night Challenge. It’s loosely part of the Iceman universe, although it doesn’t fit the chronology and it does stand alone (I hope!) Thanks to Fredbassett for the use of Ditzy, one of her OCs.

“You fancy going to the university fireworks display tonight?” Stephen rolled over onto his front and propped his chin up on Ryan’s thigh.

“No thanks.” The response was instant and surprisingly brusque.

“Come on, it’s a real laugh. The third years have made a Guy and it’s a dead ringer for the Dean. And the canteen stays open and does tomato soup and baked potatoes and toffee apples and this yummy hot chocolate. And …”

“You go if you want to.”

“Why don’t you want to come? We can watch Connor try to woo Abby with a packet of sparklers and half a dry cider. And Cutter always …”

“Stephen, I’m not going, so stop pushing.”

“God, you’re such a wet blanket! It’s for charity …”

“If you want to know the truth, fireworks scare me shitless. So now you know.” Ryan rolled over, stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. Stephen heard the bath taps turned on at full blast. He curled up on his side and scrunched his eyes shut. Fuck, why couldn’t he keep his stupid mouth shut?

~*~*~*

Ryan lay back in the bath and concentrated on relaxing his tense limbs. Why the fuck had he just blurted that out? Saying no should have been enough.

The bathroom door opened and the smell of coffee and bacon accompanied Stephen in. Ryan sat up suddenly, causing a small tidal wave. Stephen rolled his eyes, handed Ryan a mug and a sandwich, then chucked a towel on the floor to mop up the water.

“I’m sorry …” They both spoke at the same time.

“You first.” Stephen stared at him unblinkingly and took a mouthful of sandwich. Ryan felt his cock twitch as Stephen’s tongue flicked over his lips to catch a trace of tomato ketchup.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“No problem. And I’m sorry I kept pushing. Let’s forget it.”

“No. You deserve to know. I don’t bat an eyelid even in the middle of the biggest fucking load of gunfire, but fireworks freak me out. Work that one out if you can. And if you start mentioning PTSD and counsellors, I’ll kneecap you. And …” He hesitated, wondering if he’d revealed too much of himself. “And seeing your best mate at school having most of his face blown away when some fuckwit threw a banger at him doesn’t help either.”

Stephen set his plate and mug on the floor, rinsed his hands under the hot tap, then reached for the bottle of shampoo. He kissed the top of Ryan’s head, then poured some shampoo into the palm of his hand, perched on the edge of the bath and started to massage it into Ryan’s scalp. The feeling was sensational, as the long fingers applied just the right amount of pressure to help ease Ryan’s stress headache. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

~*~*~*

Lyle, Ditzy and Blade turned up about 10.30am, and they cycled out to one of the villages and had a pub lunch in front of a roaring fire. They were still there at nearly 3pm, sampling the landlord’s collection of real ale.

“You’d better get him home soon.” Ditzy materialised at Stephen’s side as he was getting the next round in.

“You know?”

Ditzy sighed. “Of course. All the lads know. We open a book once a year on which creative excuse he’ll use to avoid the regiment fireworks party. If it was anyone else, they’d get the piss ripped out of them. But …” He hesitated and glanced over to where Ryan and Lyle were arguing about politics.

“The lads know what he’s been through?”

“Yep. I’ve hassled him to see a counsellor and so has the Major. We’ve tried reasoning with him, we’ve done Mr Nice and Mr Nasty, Mr Nice and Mr Nice, Mr Nasty and Mr Nasty, and all we get is a rack of fucks or stonewalling in return.”

“He warned me off as well.”

“Not surprised. OK, let’s get these down us quickly and get him home in good time.”

~*~*~*

“I suppose Ditzy was telling you how he and Preston want me to see a counsellor?”

“We were discussing the latest London Fashion Week trends as it happens.” Stephen locked the garage door and tossed the key to Ryan.

“I doubt it. You’re about two months too late.”

“And Ditzy’s particularly knowledgeable on the works of Christopher Marlowe.”

“Bollocks. He probably thinks he plays centre forward for Kidderminster Harriers.”

“Are we going inside, or are you intending to spend the evening on the step dispensing wit and repartee to all-comers?”

Ryan gave him the finger and unlocked the front door. He jumped suddenly as there was a loud bang and a stream of colour from the sky several doors down. “For fuck’s sake! It’s that moron at the end with a motorbike. Hasn’t anyone told him it’s not even properly dark yet? And they’re a fucking waste of money. Why spend all that dosh and see them go up in smoke? I can think of hundreds of better things to buy.”

Stephen smiled slightly and kissed the end of his nose. “You’re turning into a grumpy old man. Now do something useful and stick the kettle on, while I nip down the shop.”

“What for? We’ve got enough food in to feed a regiment …” But he was addressing the observation to Stephen’s back as his partner loped off down the path.

Ryan went inside, lit the fire and pulled the curtains closed. He made a pot of tea and was just looking in the fridge debating what they could have for dinner when Stephen reappeared.

“Get your snout out of the fridge. I’ve got the meal in hand. Go and put some clean sheets on the bed before we start charging the old ones rent, and then choose a DVD for us to watch. And if it’s got soldiers and big guns in, you’re history.”

Ryan did as he was told. But when he came back downstairs, the kitchen door was closed firmly in his face, and a voice told him to bugger off for an hour. Ryan was now officially intrigued, given Stephen was a limited cook to put it mildly. Was that fried onions he could smell? And unless he was going mad, which was a strong possibility, there was something caramelly cooking as well.

~*~*~*

Ryan was stretched out on the sofa with a book when Stephen opened the kitchen door and started to lay the table.

“Can I do anything?” Ryan marked his place and set the book aside.

“Nope. It’s ready when you are.”

“So what is it? Oh …” Ryan stared in surprise at the spread appearing in front of him. There were bowls of tomato soup, hot dogs overflowing with fried onions, baked potatoes, grated cheese, baked beans, chopped onions, sweetcorn, coleslaw and god, was that really toffee apples? And those dinky little cake things made of Rice Krispies and melted chocolate?

“You can sit down and start eating …” Stephen was watching him, frowning slightly.

“It’s … It’s brilliant.” Ryan was immediately transported back to his childhood, when Gran made him tomato soup when he was ill, and let him have Rice Krispies cakes as a treat.

“Our own bonfire night party,” said Stephen, lighting some candles and then turning off the main light. 

Ryan kissed him on the lips, tasting a faint trace of chocolate. “It’ll be my first.”

“You never went to one when you were little?”

“No, especially after Paul got injured when some arsehole smuggled bangers into school and decided to throw them around in the playground. My mother never cared for them, and it was the one thing Gran was hardline about. She used to buy us a book or a toy instead. What about you?”

“We had once when I was about 11. Dunno why, because it never happened again. But I remember the food.” Stephen gestured towards it.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold …”

They ate in silence, but it was a relaxed silence. Stephen had also bought some cider, the deceptively pale stuff that crept up on you unawares, coshed you over the head and made you dream in technicolour. It contributed to probably the most unusual meal Ryan had ever had – and he’d had some bizarre ones in obscure troublespots of the world – but he enjoyed every mouthful. And Stephen by candlelight was gorgeous – all cheekbones and eyes and tawny skin.

“That was delicious,” said Ryan, pushing his chair back and carrying plates and bowls through into the kitchen.

“Good. Go and sit down. There’s one more bit to come.”

It was hot chocolate, obviously made with melted proper chocolate, topped with whipped cream and enlivened with a dash of brandy. They drank it cuddled up on the sofa, licking each other’s lips clean periodically. And then they were kissing properly, Stephen’s tongue down Ryan’s throat, and   
Ryan’s hand up his partner’s teeshirt, tweaking soft hair and erect nipples. Then Stephen unzipped the soldier’s jeans and released his cock, licking and tonguing the head. Ryan moaned as a warm mouth engulfed the shaft.

“Stephen, let’s go upstairs, do it properly …”

Stephen pulled away, his cheeks flushed and his lips slightly swollen. Ryan could never work out how he could look so debauched before anything had actually happened. He stood up and stepped out of his jeans and underpants, dumping them in the armchair.

“Bloody hell, the sprog down the road could swing on that!” Stephen nodded to Ryan’s erection.

“Ho ho!”

“Nope, Father Christmas comes next month.”

“Lucky him …”

The bedroom was pleasantly warm and the bed looked inviting with its clean sheets on and the duvet turned back. Ryan settled himself against the pillows, stroking himself, as Stephen stripped off. His slim waist made his cock look big, and Ryan wondered momentarily what it would feel like inside him. But he pushed the image from his mind.

Stephen stretched out beside him, one hand playing with a nipple, the other cupping his cock and balls. “So what d’you want to do? Shall I suck your big cock or are you going to stick it up my arse and make me yell?”

God, it was the porn film talk again. Ryan longed to tell him that their sex life was sensational enough without it, but he didn’t have the nerve. Instead, he eased Stephen onto his back and started to tongue his tight hole. Stephen’s head dropped back and he moaned and shuddered as it opened him up. Then Ryan reached for the lube, coated his fingers and eased one, then two into the tight passage. Stephen wriggled, soft curses dropping from his lips as he begged Ryan to fuck him.

Ryan applied a handful of lube to his cock and then began to ease it into Stephen. For the first minute or so it was like he was too tight and Ryan would never get inside him. But then the gentle, relentless pressure paid off and he slid in, Stephen’s hot channel stretching around his thick shaft. Stephen hooked his arms around Ryan’s neck and they kissed as Ryan set up a driving rhythm. Stephen’s very hard cock was bouncing against his flat stomach and he came first, his cries sucked into Ryan’s mouth.

They lay joined for several minutes while they got their breath back. The double glazing blocked out most of the sound from outside, but Ryan could hear the very faint but relentless tattoo of fireworks. He kissed the tip of Stephen’s nose, then licked some drops of sweat from his throat.

“OK?”

“Yeah …” Stephen’s voice was hoarse. He looked thoroughly well-fucked, his hair standing up in spikes. “That’s what I really call fireworks . . .”


End file.
